RELEASE BLITZ: “The Scars of Life” by David Blyth

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Scars of
Life

Author and Publisher: David
Blyth

Cover Artist: David
Blyth

Release Date: June 1,
2023

Genre: Contemporary Romance/Literary Fiction,
mystery/suspense

Tropes: Sexual identity, bisexuality, forbidden love

Themes: Psychological twist, mystery, family drama

Trigger Warning:
Supplementary themes involve sexual identity and a teenage incestuous occurrence: neither
are covered in detail, or described graphically, as they were ‘incidents’ rather than
relationships, though they have an impact on the development of the narrative.

Heat Rating: 2 – 3 flames

Length: 95 000 words/362
pages

It is a standalone story and
d
oes not end on a cliffhanger.

It has a HEA of sorts – it fits
vaguely into the romance genre with a lot of psychological suspense and mystery
interwoven.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle
Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Paperback also available from
Barnes and Noble

A troubled mind, a
dysfunctional love story, a psychological twist….

Blurb

Paul
Somerfield, a young journalist for Planet Earth magazine, shares a brief
friendship with the enigmatic Mike Stokes during an assignment in Devon. It leads to a
disruptive fascination and a reluctant complicity in events that evolve from Mike’s tragic
past.

On a journey
where emotions influence his brittle control, Paul pursues the truth. But the truth has many
disguises which disrupt his relationships, his rationality and his life.

A reminder of how fragile the stability of love and trust can
be: a journey that follows fear and doubt as they steer lives into a downward spiral of
destruction.

Excerpt

(To place in context: Paul (the main character) has just taken a trip over the moors
(Dartmoor, Devon, UK) with Mike (the mysterious second character) who he met just a few
days ago and befriended).

After a few minutes, with the sun transferring energy to
untanned skin, Paul plunged forward to swim towards the opposite bank. Standing up in the
shallow water, his gaze rested on his friend still stretched out below him. Mike’s eyes
remained closed, the gentle rise and fall of breath the only movement in his body. He could
almost have been asleep, but Paul knew he was not, and equally certain of Mike’s awareness
of a close observer, perhaps another gift to them both from the custodian of the paradise
who chose to share it. Paul was neither embarrassed nor aroused by the hedonic posture,
which perfectly balanced the equilibrium, complimenting the setting. He only felt
gratitude.

Time slowed to allow appreciation of the scene. Eventually,
with reluctance lest the spell be broken, Paul spoke again, “You need another cold dip,
mate.” The words were an intrusion. He strained to speak at all. An atmosphere of
expectancy subdued his responses.

Mike remained silent. As he turned his head, his eyes filled
with a remote but compelling vision. Paul was a prisoner to that gaze. The surroundings
drifted out of focus as the man held out a hand in an undeniable gesture of
reception.

The sensual element formed a command. With water
lapping knees, he leaned as fingers enclosed one arm in a soft grip. Mike’s eyes held a silent
appeal. It defied refusal. Legs felt weak, folded, he fell forward, his free hand placed near
Mike’s shoulder.

“Mike….” Words came like sobs from his lips, “I … I don’t … I
can’t….” He took shattered breaths, which formed around, “I’m sorry….”

Steady hands cradled his bowed head in a gentle caress.
Wet hair supplemented the tears that unmanned him. The softest touches of Mike’s fingers
smoothed them from his cheeks.

“Get out of the water, Paul.” Words almost whispered, close
to his ear, with barely disguised authority.

Paul responded, unconsciously, climbing onto the
stone.

Lines of sweat blurred his eyes. The atmosphere, heavy
with anticipation, directed his senses, regulated his responses. Or, a will projected from a
powerful force far below him, buried in the rock beneath. The body below him appeared
able to harness that power without the need for physical participation. Paul, aware of the
reaction of his own body to so sensual a situation, was powerless to subdue it. His skin
absorbed the life below with every touch. Nerves ignited with every caress. His senses
stimulated by conduction from another’s, as the strained form below him ascended the
pinnacles of climactic rapture. Salt tears and sweat, sun warmed skin against his lips, shared
breaths of confined desire; the noise of life pounding at his ear, the considerate grip of
passion embracing him with a bond of impregnability. All volition was gone.

Suddenly, as though perpetrated by a violent act upon the
man below him, the body became still. Only Mike’s relaxed breathing convinced Paul he was
innocent of such a deed. Time was striving to catch up with its unnatural stagnancy. A stale
memory of desire stained his mind like a contamination of his thoughts; the fruit of an
unguarded crop of passion, which left behind the bitterest aftertaste.

Paul stared at the slope they walked down earlier. Then he
stood, turned, and dived back into the water. He held no immediate aspiration to emerge
from that tranquil medium, doing so only when the pain in his chest forced him to return to
reality. Thrusting his feet towards the bed of the stream, he launched to the surface, gasping
for air. The vision that met his eyes when his violent breaths had calmed was of a dream
shattered. The picture was not as it appeared earlier. The sky painted a tormented brown.
The breathtaking scene, transformed to a bleak and forlorn landscape. Air and water around
him, tainted with pollution.

Turning his eyes across the water, he saw Mike walking up
the slope wearing his shorts, boots held by their laces in one hand, his T-shirt trailing from
the other and dragged along the grass. Swimming to the bank, reaching his clothes, he
fought jeans over a wet body and slipped on his shoes. Grasping his shirt and camera bag, he
stumbled up the slope in his haste. “Mike! Wait!” he called in a weak voice, breathing hard.
The man did not respond to his cry. Catching up as they entered the trees, he reached out to
the man’s shoulder, halting his progress.

Mike turned, a hard, almost pitiless stare, as he looked
deep into Paul’s eyes.

For a moment, Paul was unable to speak. So intense a
visage, it took away what little breath he had left. “You bastard! Don’t walk away from me as
though your dignity’s been bruised.” He dropped his shirt and bag to his feet, and braced
both hands on his knees. Breathing heavily, he waited for some reaction.

“Don’t lecture me about dignity.” The man answered,
sharply.

He felt a consuming fury growing within. Standing again,
Paul received a harsh look of accusation. As anger conquered instincts, he swung a clenched
fist towards the man’s head. The punch found its target, striking a heavy blow to the jaw.
Mike made no attempt to avoid the impact; blood soon appeared between his lips, trailing
down the side of his chin. He stood motionless, looking into the eyes of his assailant. Paul
remained poised, as though prepared to deliver another attack. Yet, in reality, he’d been
stunned by the recognition of his actions. Mike’s eyes never flinched as he reached towards
the fist, then enclosed it in a strong grip. Paul stood, mentally helpless and physically
defeated, as the man lowered the arm back to his side.

“Paul, let’s go home.” The expression on his face softened
before he turned to walk ahead.

About the Author

David Blyth was born in
Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton
Universities.

He lived for many years in
South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after
apartheid.

His interests, apart from
writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.

The Scars of
Life
was written during a two-year overland
exploration of southern, central and east Africa; much was achieved sitting under the shade
of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at
hand.

Separate
Development
, which is in fact his second novel,
though published first, was written at his home in the English Midlands.

He is currently working on his
third.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook Profile | Facebook Author Page

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter
Giveaway for a chance to w
in

an ebook copy of The Scars of
Life and Separate Development.

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Rafflecopter giveaway

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Continue ReadingRELEASE BLITZ: “The Scars of Life” by David Blyth

BLOG TOUR: “Enchanted Ink” by Robin Lynn.

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: Enchanted Ink

Author: Robin
Lynn

Cover Artist: Art by Gio
Guimaraes, Design by Katie Marlin

Release Date: June 1,
2023

Genres: LGBTQ Fiction, Contemporary Romance, Fantasy

Tropes: Fantasy/Magic/World-building, Tattoo artists, Hurt/Comfort,
Meet-Cute, Secret Identities, Celebrities, HEA, Queer romance

Themes: Self-acceptance, trauma recovery, transformation, Demisexual
representation.

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 60 000
words

It is a standalone book and
d
oes not end on a cliffhanger

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

When it comes to
transformation, magic only fixes what’s skin deep…

Blurb

In a world where an artist’s magic brings tattoos to life, ink
gone wrong can spell lasting heartache for those unlucky enough to experience it. Jaded and
cynical on both life and love, tattoo artist Ashton is about to find out that even the most
deeply-etched scars can be transformed into something beautiful when the right person is
holding the pen.

“Enchanted Ink” is a ground-breaking romance that
showcases how, with a bit of ink, some love, and a whole lot of trust, even the ugliest scars
can be transformed into something impossibly beautiful.

Using the art of tattooing as a metaphor for life,
“Enchanted Ink” makes it a mission to show even the most cynical and scarred of us that it’s
possible to heal, to find love, and that it’s never too late to start all over again.


Excerpt
The twelfth annual “Enchanted Ink” Tattoo Convention has been in full swing for hours,
but Ashton has yet to venture inside. It’s not as if he doesn’t know what he’ll find there: a
fairly standard convention space, divided using equally standard black curtains hanging from
predictable portable frames creating both booths and stations offering displays that are
anything but ordinary. Various tattoo artists and their work, in the flesh—the best of the
best, by both fact and opinion.

In addition to the booths, there are always several centralized
showcase stands, right in the middle of all the hustle and bustle. Elevated platforms where
human works of art strip down to their underwear and pose, proudly displaying full-body
and wildly colorful tattoos boasting some of the most intricate and beautiful imagery that
probably exists in the entire inked world.

This particular convention admits artists by invitation only, and
while Ashton isn’t technically here to work this year, it’s an event he’s enjoyed immensely in
the past. It’s bittersweet—perhaps a touch heavy on the bitter—hovering on the
outskirts, wondering whether he’ll ever find himself behind a booth and promoting his work
again. While that remains to be seen, there’s plenty here to worry about in the
meantime.

The thought of Whitaker working somewhere inside the
building behind him crosses Ashton’s mind and makes him grimace. He can practically feel
the tentative nerve he’s so painstakingly gathered, the courage to finally wander
through the front door, trickling away like water through a sieve.

Again.

Good thing it’s a nice day out, today. Sixty-eight degrees and
sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and Ashton brought a book. He can wait. The courage to go
inside will come.

Probably.

Sighing, Ashton rubs the sleeve of his too-dressy collared shirt
across the backs of his eyelids. The button on the cuff pokes his eye, and it feels like a call-
out. He’s too dressed up, he looks out of place. Too covered, if nothing else. Which isn’t to
say that tattooed folks can’t be modest—naturally, that’s false and would be a terribly
judgemental view to hold. Either way, the whole point of a tattoo convention is to show off
one’s body and as much art decorating skin as possible. It’s supposed to be a positive,
empowering experience.

That’s definitely the point, and his body is aesthetically
pleasant to look at, both sculpted and toned—yet here Ashton is, buttoned up solidly from
head to toe. Acting like he cares more about looking the part of a corporate stooge rather
than flaunting the walking canvas he is. Lame. So lame.

Lame, but necessary, he reminds himself.

About the Author

Robin Lynn is a 36-year-old
queer, autistic mother of two, an unabashed fangirl sometimes known as “Wings,” and a
disabled former firefighter, paramedic, and registered nurse. She writes for queer audiences
with the goal of reflecting and centering the lgbtqia2s+ community in more media, because
everyone deserves to see relatable, imperfect main characters who mirror themselves
simply existing and getting their happy endings.


Find out more and follow Robin for additional content and future
projects

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win

one of 5 ebook copies of Fire
& Ice or one of 2
signed Enchanted Ink
paperbacks with related swag: temporary tattoos and stickers.

a
Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Continue ReadingBLOG TOUR: “Enchanted Ink” by Robin Lynn.

RELEASE BLITZ: “The Scars of Life” by David Blyth

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: The Scars of
Life

Author and Publisher: David
Blyth

Cover Artist: David
Blyth

Release Date: June 1,
2023

Genre: Contemporary Romance/Literary Fiction,
mystery/suspense

Tropes: Sexual identity, bisexuality, forbidden love

Themes: Psychological twist, mystery, family drama

Trigger Warning:
Supplementary themes involve sexual identity and a teenage incestuous occurrence: neither
are covered in detail, or described graphically, as they were ‘incidents’ rather than
relationships, though they have an impact on the development of the narrative.

Heat Rating: 2 – 3 flames

Length: 95 000 words/362
pages

It is a standalone story and
d
oes not end on a cliffhanger.

It has a HEA of sorts – it fits
vaguely into the romance genre with a lot of psychological suspense and mystery
interwoven.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle
Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

Paperback also available from
Barnes and Noble

A troubled mind, a
dysfunctional love story, a psychological twist….

Blurb

Paul
Somerfield, a young journalist for Planet Earth magazine, shares a brief
friendship with the enigmatic Mike Stokes during an assignment in Devon. It leads to a
disruptive fascination and a reluctant complicity in events that evolve from Mike’s tragic
past.

On a journey
where emotions influence his brittle control, Paul pursues the truth. But the truth has many
disguises which disrupt his relationships, his rationality and his life.

A reminder of how fragile the stability of love and trust can
be: a journey that follows fear and doubt as they steer lives into a downward spiral of
destruction.

Excerpt

(To place in context: Paul (the main character) has just taken a trip over the moors
(Dartmoor, Devon, UK) with Mike (the mysterious second character) who he met just a few
days ago and befriended).

After a few minutes, with the sun transferring energy to
untanned skin, Paul plunged forward to swim towards the opposite bank. Standing up in the
shallow water, his gaze rested on his friend still stretched out below him. Mike’s eyes
remained closed, the gentle rise and fall of breath the only movement in his body. He could
almost have been asleep, but Paul knew he was not, and equally certain of Mike’s awareness
of a close observer, perhaps another gift to them both from the custodian of the paradise
who chose to share it. Paul was neither embarrassed nor aroused by the hedonic posture,
which perfectly balanced the equilibrium, complimenting the setting. He only felt
gratitude.

Time slowed to allow appreciation of the scene. Eventually,
with reluctance lest the spell be broken, Paul spoke again, “You need another cold dip,
mate.” The words were an intrusion. He strained to speak at all. An atmosphere of
expectancy subdued his responses.

Mike remained silent. As he turned his head, his eyes filled
with a remote but compelling vision. Paul was a prisoner to that gaze. The surroundings
drifted out of focus as the man held out a hand in an undeniable gesture of
reception.

The sensual element formed a command. With water
lapping knees, he leaned as fingers enclosed one arm in a soft grip. Mike’s eyes held a silent
appeal. It defied refusal. Legs felt weak, folded, he fell forward, his free hand placed near
Mike’s shoulder.

“Mike….” Words came like sobs from his lips, “I … I don’t … I
can’t….” He took shattered breaths, which formed around, “I’m sorry….”

Steady hands cradled his bowed head in a gentle caress.
Wet hair supplemented the tears that unmanned him. The softest touches of Mike’s fingers
smoothed them from his cheeks.

“Get out of the water, Paul.” Words almost whispered, close
to his ear, with barely disguised authority.

Paul responded, unconsciously, climbing onto the
stone.

Lines of sweat blurred his eyes. The atmosphere, heavy
with anticipation, directed his senses, regulated his responses. Or, a will projected from a
powerful force far below him, buried in the rock beneath. The body below him appeared
able to harness that power without the need for physical participation. Paul, aware of the
reaction of his own body to so sensual a situation, was powerless to subdue it. His skin
absorbed the life below with every touch. Nerves ignited with every caress. His senses
stimulated by conduction from another’s, as the strained form below him ascended the
pinnacles of climactic rapture. Salt tears and sweat, sun warmed skin against his lips, shared
breaths of confined desire; the noise of life pounding at his ear, the considerate grip of
passion embracing him with a bond of impregnability. All volition was gone.

Suddenly, as though perpetrated by a violent act upon the
man below him, the body became still. Only Mike’s relaxed breathing convinced Paul he was
innocent of such a deed. Time was striving to catch up with its unnatural stagnancy. A stale
memory of desire stained his mind like a contamination of his thoughts; the fruit of an
unguarded crop of passion, which left behind the bitterest aftertaste.

Paul stared at the slope they walked down earlier. Then he
stood, turned, and dived back into the water. He held no immediate aspiration to emerge
from that tranquil medium, doing so only when the pain in his chest forced him to return to
reality. Thrusting his feet towards the bed of the stream, he launched to the surface, gasping
for air. The vision that met his eyes when his violent breaths had calmed was of a dream
shattered. The picture was not as it appeared earlier. The sky painted a tormented brown.
The breathtaking scene, transformed to a bleak and forlorn landscape. Air and water around
him, tainted with pollution.

Turning his eyes across the water, he saw Mike walking up
the slope wearing his shorts, boots held by their laces in one hand, his T-shirt trailing from
the other and dragged along the grass. Swimming to the bank, reaching his clothes, he
fought jeans over a wet body and slipped on his shoes. Grasping his shirt and camera bag, he
stumbled up the slope in his haste. “Mike! Wait!” he called in a weak voice, breathing hard.
The man did not respond to his cry. Catching up as they entered the trees, he reached out to
the man’s shoulder, halting his progress.

Mike turned, a hard, almost pitiless stare, as he looked
deep into Paul’s eyes.

For a moment, Paul was unable to speak. So intense a
visage, it took away what little breath he had left. “You bastard! Don’t walk away from me as
though your dignity’s been bruised.” He dropped his shirt and bag to his feet, and braced
both hands on his knees. Breathing heavily, he waited for some reaction.

“Don’t lecture me about dignity.” The man answered,
sharply.

He felt a consuming fury growing within. Standing again,
Paul received a harsh look of accusation. As anger conquered instincts, he swung a clenched
fist towards the man’s head. The punch found its target, striking a heavy blow to the jaw.
Mike made no attempt to avoid the impact; blood soon appeared between his lips, trailing
down the side of his chin. He stood motionless, looking into the eyes of his assailant. Paul
remained poised, as though prepared to deliver another attack. Yet, in reality, he’d been
stunned by the recognition of his actions. Mike’s eyes never flinched as he reached towards
the fist, then enclosed it in a strong grip. Paul stood, mentally helpless and physically
defeated, as the man lowered the arm back to his side.

“Paul, let’s go home.” The expression on his face softened
before he turned to walk ahead.

About the Author

David Blyth was born in
Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton
Universities.

He lived for many years in
South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after
apartheid.

His interests, apart from
writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.

The Scars of
Life
was written during a two-year overland
exploration of southern, central and east Africa; much was achieved sitting under the shade
of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at
hand.

Separate
Development
, which is in fact his second novel,
though published first, was written at his home in the English Midlands.

He is currently working on his
third.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook Profile | Facebook Author Page

Giveaway

Enter the Rafflecopter
Giveaway for a chance to w
in

an ebook copy of The Scars of
Life and Separate Development.

a
Rafflecopter giveaway

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions


Continue ReadingRELEASE BLITZ: “The Scars of Life” by David Blyth

BLOG TOUR: “I Promise You Pain” by Bart Baker.

BLOG TOUR

Book Title: I Promise You Pain (The Cordon Finn Vengeance Series, Book One)

Author: Bart Baker

Publisher: Big Muddy Books

Release Date: May 11, 2023

Genre: Dark Action

Tropes: Damaged hero, surprising sidekick, duplicitous villain

Themes: Finding One’s True Self, Fighting for Who You Are, Coming Out, Found Family

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 67 345 words/203 pages

It is the first book in a series and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links

Amazon US | Amazon UK | B&N | Kobo

When the only course of action is revenge, only the most damaged man is capable of maximum destruction.

Blurb

Hired by a Chicago billionaire to pluck his runaway son from the Palm Springs compound of a wealthy pedophile, former military extraction and information specialist, Cordon Finn, believes it will be a simple snatch and go job with a big payday. But after grabbing the kid at a Pride Week party, Cordon discovers that nothing is as it seems. His quarry isn’t underage, and isn’t the billionaire’s son, but rather his trans-daughter who goes by the name of Lucious. And her father wants Lucious dead, putting Cordon, who is dealing with his own sexual identity, in the crosshairs as well. After fighting off a cadre of assassins, Cordon vows to keep Lucious alive. But when the billionaire kidnaps Cordon’s girlfriend and comes after his family and friends, Cordon takes the fight back to the billionaire’s door. With the surprising help of Lucious, as well as his sister, Annie, Cordon battles the billionaire’s small army, until he’s face-to-face with the billionaire. And in this battle, there will be only one man left standing, the one who is capable of maximum destruction.

Excerpt

Arriving at his car, Cordon puts down the top and tosses his bag in before opening the door to climb in, when he hears, “We’re even,” from behind him.

Turning, he finds the young guy, smiling cheekily, standing behind him.

“Even?” Cordon asks, unsure.

“You enjoyed the show I put on for you inside, I enjoyed the show you put on for me as you sashayed across the parking lot,” the kid says.

“I don’t sashay. And I didn’t take off my shirt for you.”

The kid giggles, rolling his eyes dramatically as he says, “Liar. That’s the only reason you took off your shirt. Hoping I’d notice and come running up to you.”

“And here you are.”

The kid’s face squishes up like he’s eaten rotten lemons.

“I’m a sucker for a muscle daddy. And you certainly got size. Hopefully, in the places I can’t see.”

“How old are you?” Cordon asks, ignoring the kid’s comment.

“Twenty-two.”

“Now who’s the liar?”

The kid smirks mischievously, hand on hip. “Nineteen. Five-ten. Twenty-eight-inch waist. My name is Gio. Want to know my cock size?”

Cordon doesn’t answer, which causes Gio to grin mischievously.

“Come on, I saw you looking at it. Though I imagine being a giant, yours is bigger. But for my frame, mine is super-sized,” he laughs.

“This bullshit work?”

“Work how?”

“On other guys. Talking about your dick like it’s a 78-inch flat screen.”

“Just the ones who I think are interested,” Gio laughs, then suddenly gets more direct as he adds, “or have the money to pay.”

Cordon nods, understanding more clearly Gio’s game. “Which one do you think I am?” Cordon asks.

“You’re driving a really nice car, so you got the money. But I don’t think you have to pay men to have sex with you, unless you do it for the control, or you’re married, which I wouldn’t doubt, and you hope money will keep your trick’s mouth shut. Either way, I know you’re interested. I always know.”

“You party up at Lansing’s?” Cordon asks, tiring of the conversation.

Again, Gio’s smile fades, his head turning slightly as if looking at the Cordon from a different angle might jog his memory. “Did we meet up there?” Gio asks more of himself than Cordon. “No. I’d remember. Lansing would never invite a guy like you. All his little boys would flit around you like butterflies to bougainvillea, and he doesn’t allow anyone to steal his thunder. You a cop?”

“No.”

“You know if I ask, you have to tell me,” Gio inserts.

“That’s bullshit. But I’m not.”

Gio takes Cordon in silently for a moment. And even though he knows he shouldn’t say too much to the statuesque man he doesn’t know, Gio is not adept at shutting up, even when it’s in his best interest.

“Sure, I party up at Lansing’s. Never lived there, though. Those guys think Lansing’s the answer to their prayers. Please. He has a revolving bedroom door with guys going in all young, dewy-eyed, and hopeful, and coming out all used up and sad. The man’s an emotional vampire. Sucks the life out of everybody. They all think that he’s going to help make them a star, or they’ll meet some other old queen through Lansing that will. And they all end up going back home, broke, hungry, and completely jaded, or they end up selling it to pay the rent. Hell, even when you’re up there, all that’s there are other fairies just like them or some dried-up, old, coke addict trying to get his Viagra dick up your ass. Don’t know anybody Lansing’s actually helped. Ever.”

“You don’t hold back, do you?”

“Just so I know who just insulted me, what’s your name?”

“Cordon.”

“Cordon from where?”

“Chicago.”

“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you, Dorothy? Are you here for Pride Week? I mean, I don’t get that vibe from you, that you’re down here to party with the boys. But you could be one of those sad, married men who told your wife back in Chicago that you’re going on a golfing trip or a hunting trip or something equally lame. And you’re here because you really like dick but you’re Catholic or worse, Evangelical, like my parents, and your guilt is off the charts because you married some pretty blonde, church-going girl, you have two kids, but all you think about when you’re fucking her is guys like me.”

“You hungry?” Cordon asks, ignoring Gio’s smart-ass comment.

“If you’re paying and I get to pick the restaurant,” Gio quickly tacks on.

Cordon lets a half-smile slip on his lip at Gio’s young, alpha nonsense.

“Get in,” Cordon says.

About the Author

Mr. Baker has written seven novels, including WHAT REMAINS, THE VIRGIN DAIQUIRI, and THE WEDDING GIFT. The film rights to his beloved novel, HONEYMOON WITH HARRY, were purchased by New Line Cinema. The book also spawned two sequels, A SECOND HONEYMOON WITH HARRY and THE LAST HONEYMOON WITH HARRY. Bart has also written for the theater, having eight plays produced around the world. The film rights to his play, RELAY, were purchased by Warner Bros., which led him into screenwriting. Bart has had 18 produced film and TV credits, including the feature film, LIVE WIRE, starring Pierce Brosnan, the BRIDE trilogy of films for CBS, as well as projects for CBS, ABC, FX, The Family Channel, Lifetime, The USA Network, and Hallmark among others.

Author Links

Website and Newsletter Sign-up | Twitter | Instagram

Facebook Author Page | Facebook Series Page

Hosted by Gay Book Promotions

Continue ReadingBLOG TOUR: “I Promise You Pain” by Bart Baker.

RELEASE BLITZ: “Separate Development” by David Blyth. Rafflecopter Giveaway Included!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Separate Development

Author and Publisher: David Blyth

Release Date: May 1, 2023

Genre: Contemporary LGBT Fiction/Literary Fiction

Tropes: An Intercontinental Love Story

Themes: LGBT, Bisexual, Interracial, South African, Apartheid, Medical (Doctor)

Heat Rating: 2-3 flames

Length: 120 000 words/420 pages

It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

An intercontinental love story

Author’s note:

Separate Development is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Many names, places and timelines have been altered to provide anonymity to third parties. Character names do not reflect anyone, living or deceased, whom I have ever known. However, I would like to thank the real-life members of the family portrayed in this book for being part of my life, and for their understanding and acceptance. I recognise that their memories of the events described in the novel may be different from my own. There was never any intention to misrepresent anyone; in fact, I am honoured to have known them.

Blurb

At twenty-five, recently qualified Dr Jonathan Conner leaves his comfortable life and love in London, taking up a charitable post during the last months of South Africa’s apartheid system. Weeks from a planned visit by his long-standing girlfriend, he falls in love with a young African man in the northern homeland of Venda.

Their passionate, heart-rending love story unfolds against the backdrop of conflict between social tolerances that lag behind political freedoms.
Returning to England after eight years, he’s forced to confront the consequences of his decisions for those left behind in two very different worlds.

Through this story of love’s endurance beyond society’s acceptance and geographical separation, can the enduring power of the human heart overcome adversity?

Excerpt

The stark beauty of Venda’s voluptuous landscape could have replaced many an artist’s requirement for naked models of either sex. Rounded hills, writhing between cleaved valleys, yearned for lustful hands to caress their contours in pleasurable embraces. Admittedly, on that solemn day, it was not a mental image to dwell on. But I was to make the journey more than once.

The last twenty miles were dirt, dust dry, following the undulating curvature of parched hillsides. Rain was a distant memory, the last breath of summer’s bounty, yet portions of verdant green interspersed the struggling rampant growth of a forgotten season. Soon the skies would fill again with heat born clouds, storage towers of sustenance, destined to release daily torrents. Today, the brightest greens picked out pockets of humanity, cultivated patches and plots, tall stands of maize, fringed with bananas and peppered with papayas. Water was available for those who worked hard enough to find it, and the rich African soil rewarded those who took the trouble. These oases were increasing in frequency, many still surrounded by round, thatched, mud-wall huts or rondavels, some supplemented by larger rectangular versions, roofs still often traditional but occasionally replaced by bright or rusty zinc. Tracks worn by years of footfall fed the settlements. Vehicular access was rare, but where it existed, the residences built of brick, though often rendered: similar modern bungalows to mine.

As the frequency of dwellings increased, so did the appearance of structures clearly having other functions. Eventually we reached a broad flat plane. Gone were the patches of green, and in their place, the straggling thorn bushes — which conquered any area where humanity didn’t — had grown to tall spreading trees; all were bare of leaf, yet in the seasons of rain, broad panoplies of shade would provide protection from Capricorn’s sun. The space, ringed with buildings of a relatively modern construction, had occasional notices of printed or hand painted letters attached. Enclosing one side of the quadrangle stood a long dormitory style block of rough plastered walls, patched and peeling paint representing the faded choices of many years, or perhaps revealing the use of colours kindly donated at the time. Windows, placed only a few inches below the rusty corrugated overhang of the roof, in some sections without frame or glass, allowed light yet probably deterred its occupants from external distraction. Three well-worn steps led to broad double doors, also reflecting the indecision or availability of bygone supplies of colour. Only the signage appeared to have received regular maintenance. Bold black lettering, written with skilled hands on a fresh blue base, told me Sarah’s directions had led me to park in front of Ha-nthabalala Secondary School, Established 1972. Headmaster: Mr Joseph Ramanala. The name had a slightly deeper blue background, suggesting it represented the most recent promotion to the post.

About the Author

David Blyth was born in Staffordshire, in the UK. He graduated from Nottingham and Wolverhampton Universities with a BSC.hon and a PGCE. He lived for many years in South Africa, where he witnessed the political and social transformation during and after apartheid.

His interests, apart from writing, include anything that helps him to stay relatively sane.

Separate Development, which is in fact, his second novel, was written at his home in the English Midlands. It is due to be published in the spring of 2023.

His first novel, The Scars of Life, was written during a two-year overland exploration of southern, central and east Africa. Much was achieved sitting under the shade of a huge mango tree on the shores of Lake Malawi, always with a beer near at hand. It will be published during the summer of 2023.

Social Media Links

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NEW RELEASE and SERIES TOUR: “Pith & Sickle – The Diabolous Chronicles” by D K Girl.

NEW RELEASE and SERIES TOUR

Pitch & Sickle –
The Diabolus Chronicles
by D K Girl

An MM Gaslamp
Fantasy Series

 

NEW RELEASE – BOOK 6

Book Title: The
Herlequin – Pitch & Sickle Book Six

Author: D K Girl

Length: 129 000
words

Release Date: April 27,
2023

Genre: MM Historical Fantasy

It is not a standalone story
and
ends on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

 

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

The journey to Blood Lake has begun…

Blurb
Pitch and Sickle have survived enraged fae queens,
murderous forest guardians, walking corpses, and ghosts turned monstrous by the
Blight.

They been tortured by sorcerers and made
playthings by enemies who have sided with the Morrigan.

The ankou and his daemon prince have been forced
to confront awful secrets from their pasts.

Both have made terrible sacrifices to keep the

other safe.
And would willingly do much more to protect the
unimaginable bond that has grown between them.


In the midst of the chaos and carnage a deadman
and a daemon have found each other.


Now, Prince Vassago will need his Pale Horseman
more than ever before.

With the escape from the Fulbourn comes the truth
about what lies ahead.


The journey will be perilous.
The great hunt has begun.
And all is not as it should be for a beleagered
daemon.


Can Silas and the Order outwit the Morrigan, and deliver Pitch to where
Seraphiel’s secrets lie?

Or will the sorcerers’ Herlequin succeed where all the rest have failed?

 

CHECK OUT THE OTHER BOOKS IN THE
SERIES

BOOK 1

Book Title: The
Bandalore – Pitch & Sickle Book One

Cover Artist: Deranged Doctor
Designs

Release Date: February 25,
2021

Heat Rating: 2 flames

Length: 285
pages

Genre: Historical Fantasy MM

Tropes: Slow, slow burn, opposites attract

Themes: Loneliness and friendship

It is not a standalone book.
This is the first book in the Gaslamp Fantasy series, The Diabolus
Chronicles.

It has an unresolved
storyline rather than an outright cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Silas Mercer died once.
He’d rather not do it again.

 

Blurb

1885 London, England

Silas Mercer died once. He’d rather not do it again.

On his return to the world of the living, Silas finds himself in
the hands of the mysterious Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn.

The Order has London society clamouring for their services,
with tarot readings, seances and exorcisms among their arcane specialities.

Now they seem intent on making Silas their newest
recruit.

But they want far more from him than cheap parlour
tricks.

When the Order partners him with the scandalous rake,
Tobias Astaroth, Silas’s new life is turned on its head in more ways than one.

Tobias is quick-tempered, dangerously charming, and far
more than the man he seems.

For Silas, surviving what the Order has planned for him will
be a challenge.

But finding a way to survive Tobias Astaroth could prove
impossible.

 

A slow-burn MM Gaslamp Fantasy series.

Contains: Sexual content, violence and rather a lot of
cursing.

This is the first book in the thrilling Gaslamp Fantasy series,
The Diabolus Chronicles

 

BOOK 2

Book Title: The Verderer
– Pitch & Sickle Book Two

Length: 309
pages

Release Date: June 30,
2021

Genres: MM Fantasy, Gaslamp Fantasy, Historical Fantasy

Tropes: Opposites attract, Stuck together, Emotional scars

It is not a standalone story.
The o
verarching storyline continues but issues are
resolved for the immediate storyline.

Goodreads

Buy Links –
Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Life as a servant of
death has its challenges.
But the biggest one of all
is Silas’s daemonic guardian, Pitch.

Blurb

Silas Mercer is a dead man walking.

And the mysterious Order of the Golden Dawn have big
plans for their newest ankou and his deathly bandalore.

Life as a servant of death has its challenges.

But the biggest one of all is Silas’s daemonic guardian,
Pitch.

He may look like heaven, but he’s making Silas’s life all kinds
of hell.

The daemon is arrogant, egotistical and his appetite for
violence and tea cakes is fast outgrowing the small village where they have been
recuperating since their run-in with Black Annis.

Now, the increasingly unstable Blight is causing new havoc,
and fresh monstrosities are emerging.

Pitch and Sickle are back in the saddle, and on their way to
the haunted Forest of Dean.

But can Silas rely on his guardian’s protection?

Or will Pitch prove to be the most dangerous encounter of
all?

 

BOOK 3

Book Title: The Skriker –
Pitch & Sickle Book Three

Length: 369
pages

Release Date: October 20,
2021

Genres: MM Fantasy, Gaslamp Fantasy, Historical Fantasy

Tropes: Opposites attract, Stuck together, Emotional scars

It is not a standalone story.
The o
verarching storyline continues but issues are
resolved for the immediate storyline.

Goodreads

Buy Links –
Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

Silas Mercer has faced
wily boggarts, mad faerie queens and enraged forest spirits. But can he withstand a daemon
who is losing his mind?

Blurb

Silas Mercer has faced wily boggarts, mad faerie queens
and enraged forest spirits.

But can he withstand a daemon who is losing his
mind?

Pitch and Sickle are left bruised, battered and reeling after
their confrontation with the Verderer.

They have learned a startling truth behind the arrowhead
that wounded Silas, a truth that must be taken to the Lady Satine and the Order without
delay.

But his encounters in the Forest of Dean have effected Pitch
in alarming ways. The daemon’s body may have healed but his erratic behaviour and wildly
unpredictable temper grow ever more concerning.

Silas owes his life to Pitch. Their experience in the forest
has brought them a closeness he could not have imagined possible.

But what can he do for a daemon who is losing his
way?

And how long will Silas survive, if he must ride
alone?

 

BOOK 4

Book Title: The
Greensward – Pitch & Sickle Book Four

Length: 412
pages

Release Date: April 13,
2022

Genres: MM Fantasy, Gaslamp Fantasy, Historical Fantasy

Tropes: Opposites attract, Stuck together, Emotional scars

It is not a standalone story.
The o
verarching storyline continues but issues are
resolved for the immediate storyline.

Goodreads

Buy Links –
Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

The Lady’s Horsemen
are riding out once more. Carrying death’s scythe to where tormented souls linger.
But what awaits them in a world where
divine magick has returned?

Blurb

The Lady’s Horsemen are riding out once more. Carrying
death’s scythe to where tormented souls linger.

But what awaits them in a world where divine magick has
returned?

Pitch is recovered from the injuries he received in the
Forest of Dean, and Silas won’t soon forget the part he played in setting his guardian back on
his feet.

The ankou and the daemon have been reunited in a most
unexpected and intimate way, but barely have they caught their breath when a new threat
arises.

A tortured spirit is frightening both the living and the dead
along the roads of Devon.

But is this soul a monster that must be stopped, or another
pawn in the necromancer’s mysterious game?

With Azazel’s magick re-emerging after hundreds of years,
maleficium plagues the world once more. But who is wielding the forbidden arcane magick
of the angels?

Do they work alone?

And why are they so intent on harassing the Lady’s
Horsemen?

Silas has never felt stronger, or more determined to live up
to the Order’s high expectations. He’s faced the walking dead, outwitted the enchanted Hall,
and gained an ally in the skriker.

But he’s not sure he’s equipped to handle his growing
attraction to a troubled daemon.

And Silas fears that getting any closer to Pitch and his tragic
secrets may prove as dangerous as the monsters they are riding to face.

 

BOOK 5

Book Title: The
Fulbourn – Pitch & Sickle Book Five

Author: D K Girl

Publisher: Lucas Publishing

Length: 133Kwords/ 458
pages

Release Date: October 20,
2022

It is not a standalone story.
While it d
oes not end on a cliffhanger, there are
some unresolved issues.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle Unlimited

Amazon US | Amazon UK

 

When the King of Daemonkind comes to call, be ready
for hell to follow.

Blurb

After Lucifer’s disturbing visit,
the quest to destroy the Blight takes on a desperate urgency.

Finding Lieutenant Edward
Charters is paramount.

But what role does a mortal man
play in Seraphiel’s dangerous game?

The angel has sent Pitch a
talisman from beyond the grave, a seemingly innocuous watch that may be the key to
ending the Watcher King’s dark legacy. But to learn its secret Pitch and Silas must find the
man intended to carry it.

As the search for the lieutenant
begins, the Horsemen find themselves gifted with something more precious than any angelic
token. An evening of unexpected freedom.

A night that will deepen their intimacy and bring
long-stifled feelings to the fore.

But what price will they pay for
choosing breathless pleasure over rigid duty?

The Morrigan have not forgiven
the destruction at the greensward. They are prepared to do whatever it takes to rid
themselves of the Horsemen and heed the Watcher King’s ghostly call.

The Fulbourn is Pitch and Silas’s
greatest threat yet.

A place that will drive them into the depths of their
most terrible fears and seek to tear them apart.

They are closer than ever before but will that fragile new bond be
enough to save them?
Or have the daemon prince and his ankou found the nemesis that will destroy them once
and for all?

 

Excerpt from ‘The Bandalore-Pitch & Sickle Book One’

A rather pretty gentleman, sharp featured, pale and fine,
stepped into the room with a flourish of raised hands. His tousled light brown hair was wild
about his shoulders, and his eyes so green it was as though emeralds had been pressed into
the sockets. ‘Let the amusements begin…or should I say…continue.’

His velvet coat, a red almost as bold as the woman’s lips,
was unbuttoned, revealing a black shirt with a silver brocade of Chinese dragons upon it. An
elaborate ruffling of silk tumbled from the collar and covered a good portion of his chest. His
choice of trousers was equally curious, a rather outdated fall-front style in black silk.

The baron groaned, but his smile was ever-present. ‘Good
god, man, we thought you two would never be done.’

‘Perfection takes time, does it not?’

‘Take your seat, you rascal, and stop your showmanship, at
least just for a moment.’

Silas scratched his right palm absently, attempting to stymie
the prickle. Like many things about himself he wasn’t certain of his age, his late twenties was
likely, much the same as the man who had just swept into the room.

Mr Astaroth tilted his head, pursing lips that held a near-
perfect Cupid’s bow. ‘Am I to stand aside so another showman can perform?’

‘Exactly,’ the baron declared.

As Mr Astaroth made his way to his seat with his
companion, he had a notable effect on those in attendance. The ladies all at once seemed
incapable of deciding how they should adjust their gowns upon their seats, and the men
were equally as fidgety. All of them were fixated on Mr Astaroth’s procession across the
room. The man had not spared Silas a glance yet, even when he was deriding him, and Silas
had no issue with that at all. He was not sure he’d enjoy the pierce of those green eyes upon
him. But he could not deny there was indeed something mesmerising about the lad, the
sway of his hips, the coiled tension in his body that gave the impression he might suddenly
leap unannounced in any direction.

Mr Astaroth stopped to take a glass of champagne from the
tray offered by a somewhat flustered young footman. The liquid wobbled in its crystal
confines, and the boy’s eyes darted so quickly between the floor and the man before him, it
was as though he’d lost control of his eyeballs.

‘Thank you, kind sir. What a wonderful job you do.’ Mr
Astaroth’s smile was discomfortingly suggestive, his whispered appreciation of the boy’s
offering far too intimate, and the serving boy nearly stumbled over his own feet to move
away.

Mr Astaroth was slender, not remarkable in height, and the
angles of his face were delicate to the point of being feminine, but he held a presence that
quite overwhelmed the room. Silas’s gaze moved down the length of the man’s body to his
feet. He wore heeled boots, which meant he was shorter than first impressions allowed. The
glean of polished leather distracted Silas from what became startlingly obvious a moment
later. He tensed and closed his eyes a second, as though that might change things. But alas it
was not to be.

The ground at Tobias Astaroth’s feet held no
shadow.

Whoever this man was, he was not, for all intents and
purposes, human. Silas took hold of the arms of the chair, filled with the sudden desire to
depart. No one had thought to instruct him on an encounter such as this.

‘Stop frightening the help and get your arse on a chair,’
declared the bespectacled man at Silas’s left. ‘We know how you hate to have attention
diverted from you, so do try and behave, Pitch old boy.’

Evidently the group knew the man well enough to have
endowed him with a nickname. Silas could only imagine its origins.

‘Oh Brenton,’ Victoria, Mr Astaroth’s companion, said. ‘As
far as I’m concerned, Tobias has been on his best behaviour all evening.’ She had taken her
seat and leaned her elbows upon the table, utterly at ease.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ Mr Astaroth said. ‘You are as sensible
as you are extremely talented in the art of, what were we calling it? Tarot reading.’ He tilted
his glass towards her before turning to Silas. The air quite vanished from Silas’s lungs
beneath the daggers of his emerald stare. ‘How very nice to make your acquaintance, Mr
Mercer. I do hope we are in for a wonderful show.’

 

 

About the Author

Danielle K Girl is an Aussie who lives in stunning Tasmania with
her three furkids, cats Luffy, Sweetie and Ren.

Her idea of heaven is a farm full of rescue animals, with a
vegie garden that sprouts peanut M&M’s and chocolate wheaten biscuits.

When she’s not keyboard-deep in mysterious, beguiling
worlds, she is binge watching K-Dramas, listening to K-Pop or hiking through the beautiful
Tasmanian wilderness.

 

 

Author Links

Blog/Website |
Facebook | Instagram

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Continue ReadingNEW RELEASE and SERIES TOUR: “Pith & Sickle – The Diabolous Chronicles” by D K Girl.

RELEASE BLITZ: “Fauxmance in the Falls” by J.E. Birk. $10.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Fauxmance
in the Falls

Author: J.E. Birk

Publisher: Maple Mountains
Press

Cover Artist: Cate Ashwood

Release Date: April 20,
2023

Genres: Contemporary M/M Romance, small town romance

Tropes: Fake relationship, small town, age gap, alpha doctor,
grumpy/sunshine

Themes: Redemption, coming out, found families

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: Approx. 92 000
words and 331 pages

It’s the first book in the series
and d
oes not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Available in Kindle
Unlimited

Universal Link | Amazon US | Amazon UK

Never date your dream
doctor

Blurb

I’m here to destroy this town. How did I end up in a fake relationship with its hero?

I’ve spent my life proving to my grandpa and dad that I’m
more than just the Lewis family mistake. So when Grandpa sends me to Devon Falls, VT to
take some ridiculous leaf festival to court, I head straight there and get to work.

But Dr. Jack Lancer keeps getting in my way.

He’s everywhere.
Helping me out with my migraines, making me dinner, insisting people be nice to me even
though I’m the enemy. Who is this guy? The next thing I know I’m pretending to be Jack’s
boyfriend to get him out of a bind. I swear he’s putting kindness pills in my food or
something.

Jack thinks he can fix me the same way he fixes everyone
else. But I’m not broken. This podunk town will be when I’m done with it, though. And Jack?
Well, he’s about to learn the meaning of the term “collateral damage.” Because I’ll do
anything to win this case and end this festival.

Even if it means losing something that feels an awful lot like
love.

Fauxmance in the Falls is an age-gap romance featuring a small town full of quirks, a grumpy lawyer and a
charming physician, a fake relationship gone wild, some inappropriate use of a doctor’s
office, and a healthy mix of humor and angst. It stars Benson Lewis, who first appeared in
the book
Counterpoint.

Excerpt

Benson stands before us, looking as wrecked as I could ever
imagine seeing him. He’s barely standing upright, and there are dark circles surrounding his
sagging eyes. He’s wearing a wrinkled pair of jogging pants and a shirt that looks like he’s
sweated through it, and his facial expression screams of absolute misery. I simultaneously
feel extremely guilty for knocking on his door and extremely glad that I did. “Benson,” I say
softly. “Migraine?”

He nods, immediately wincing at the head motion. And that
tiny little movement is all the cue I need to start taking charge.

“Elijah, I need you to run to the drug store,” I tell him
quietly. I list off a series of items that Benson likely needs.

“Be right back,” Elijah whispers, though I never warned him
about being quiet. He’s far more astute than his grandparents give him credit for. He runs off
down the hall and I step into Benson’s space, examining him with my eyes. “How long?” I
ask.

“Since the Thai restaurant.”

Shit. Almost twenty-four hours, then. “Have you taken
anything?”

“Just aspirin.” He winces at the ray of light peeking around
the door from the hallway. “Don’t have anything else,” he mumbles. I’m going to make sure
we correct that the second he’s well enough for conversation. But right now, all I want to do
is make him feel better.

“Okay,” I tell him gently. “We’ll fix it, Benson. I’ve got you.
You’re not on your own anymore.”

He stares at me, squinting, and I notice his eyes are wet.
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he says hoarsely.

I startle slightly. I know Benson well enough by now to
know those probably aren’t words he says often.

I guide him gently into the apartment, which is a small
studio with a double bed in one corner and a combination kitchen/living room taking up
most of the space. The curtains are closed tightly. They’re mostly light-blocking, at least. I
surprise him, I think, when I guide him over to the sofa and help him lay down there. “I’m
going to get you some water and change your sheets,” I whisper. “Have you been able to
keep food down?”

He shakes his head slightly.

“Well, I sent Elijah for applesauce and electrolytes. We’ll
see if we can fix that.” I can feel his eyes track me as I make use of what his small space has
to offer. I find a glass of water and help him sit up long enough to take a few sips. When he
shakes his head at me, I don’t push for him to drink more. I find clean sheets and quickly
make his bed, then grab some sweatpants and a Burlington U Law shirt from his dresser.
“C’mon,” I urge him. “Let’s get you into some more comfortable clothes.”

He holds onto my shoulders as I help him step out of his
pants. I look away to give him as much privacy as possible, but Benson draws my attention
back to him when he says, “this isn’t really how I envisioned you getting in my pants for the
first time.”

The corners of his lips are turned up in a hint of a wry grin,
and my heart speeds up. Has he really had those thoughts too? Now is not the time for that
conversation, unfortunately. “Me either,” I tell him, keeping things light as I help him into the
fresh pants and shirt.

I change the sheets on the bed and get him settled into it
before I dampen a washcloth with cool water. Some migraine patients are sensitive to any
kind of touch when they have episodes like this, but Benson sighs with happiness when I lay
the cloth across his forehead.

I sit down gently on the side of his bed. “When Elijah gets
back we’ll try food and more water,” I tell him. “Get excited for that applesauce.”

Benson grimaces. “I’ll try it,” he promises. “I already feel
better than I did. Thank you, Jack.”

I gently take one of his hands, and when he doesn’t object,
I hold it while I rub my thumb against his palm. “Thank you for what?” I ask. I’m not sure
what I’m being thanked for. Changing someone’s sheets and getting them some water when
they’re ill are about the most basic things you can do for another human.

“No one’s ever really done this before. You know. For me,”
he mutters. “Not lately, anyway.”

“Do you get migraines often?” I ask him.

He sighs. “I used to get them a lot more when I was
younger. I thought they were going away. But lately they’ve been getting worse.”

“Who used to take care of you when you got them?” I
ask.

He shrugs into the sheets around him. “I think my nannies
did. Well, some of them anyway. Until they… couldn’t anymore.” Benson grimaces again,
and I decide this isn’t the best time to have this conversation.

“You’re going to be okay,” I tell him. It’s a universal line I’ve
used a million times in my career. Some patients believe it. Some don’t. From Benson’s
expression, I can’t tell where he stands.

“It was worse last night,” he replies. “In the middle of the
night. It was so bad. They’ve gotten worse lately, like I said. I was here, in this bed, and the
pain was so awful I started to wonder if I was going to live through it. And I kept thinking…
kept thinking that I didn’t want to die by myself in a studio apartment. Alone. All by myself.”
He closes his eyes against pain I can’t see, and suddenly I need to be holding more than just
his hand.

“You’re not alone,” I tell him. I lean over farther and graze
his cheek with the fingers of my other hand. It’s a test to see if my touch hurts, but all he
does is lean farther into it. And just like that, I know I’m doing the right thing. “You’re not
alone right now,” I repeat. “And you never have to be alone again. Not if you don’t want to
be. You have me now. Me and Elijah.”

Benson has settled his cheek deep into my hand at this
point. He’s almost nuzzling it. “Not forever,” he mumbles. “Just for now. Just for
pretend.”



About the Author

J.E. Birk was raised in
Vermont and is now adulting in Colorado with intermittent success. She is a long-time lover
of stories, and she writes and reads in worlds where imperfect characters find their happily
ever after. Snag free bonus content and stay up-to-date on J.E. Birk’s news and releases by
signing up for her newsletter.

Social Media Links

Blog/Website | Facebook | Twitter

Instagram | Newsletter Sign-up | TikTok

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Enter the Rafflecopter
Giveaway
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a
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RELEASE BLITZ: “Sweet as Pie” by Beth Bolden. $20.00 Amazon Gift Card Giveaway Included!

RELEASE BLITZ

Book Title: Sweet as
Pie

Author and Publisher: Beth
Bolden

Cover Artist: Morningstar
Ashley Designs

Release Date: April 13,
2023

Genre: Contemporary MM romance

Tropes: Grumpy/sunshine, opposites attract, small town

Themes: Family responsibilities, necessary change, unexpected
love

Heat Rating: 4
flames

Length: 80 000
words

It is a standalone
story.

Goodreads

Buy Links – Kindle Unlimited

Universal Link | Amazon US |
Amazon UK

Blurb

Luca Moretti is grumpy—and he wouldn’t have it any other
way.


Wrangling six—Italian—siblings and the family’s

restaurants would make anyone cranky. But when his mother requests that he save his
aunt’s struggling Italian deli in charming, picturesque Indigo Bay, he has no idea that he’s about to overdose on sweetness.

Luca expected his aunt’s stubbornness—she’s a
Moretti, isn’t she?—and his cousin’s resistance to actual work, but the last thing he expected
is the absolute ball of sunshine known as Oliver Billings.


Oliver loves Indigo Bay. Loves owning his small
artisan bakery, Sweetie Pie’s. Helps nice old ladies cross the street. Even volunteers for the
local Sweethearts Festival.


Sweet isn’t really Luca’s style, or so he thinks. But
when he discovers Oliver can be a little spicy too, his prickly exterior begins to crumble like a
well-baked crust.


If Luca isn’t careful, he’s going to develop a taste for
sweets—and a particular baker’s pie.


And one or two servings will never be
enough.

Excerpt

“Ah, they sent the fixer out.” Oliver sounded amused
again. “I can see it. You’re definitely more of a fixer than a baker.”

Luca shrugged. “I run my family’s four restaurants.
They do not typically need fixing.” Don’t be arrogant, don’t be arrogant. “But
Nonna’s Deli here, it is . . .an investment of ours. Not directly under my control. So I’m not
here to order changes but to . . .suggest them. Nicely.”

“Which is how they’ve managed to underperform all
these years,” Oliver said with another of those smirks. They shouldn’t have been so
frustratingly attractive. But Luca felt them deep down, stirring him up in a way he hadn’t
expected.

Oliver was definitely a very attractive package, one
he’d love to unwrap.

Would he be as sweet as promised? Or a little salty
too? Maybe even a bit spicy?

“You could say that,” Luca said. “Part of the proposed
changes are aligning the menu more directly with our other restaurants. And that includes
fresh bread, daily. Nonna’s here doesn’t have the staff, the resources, or the equipment to
do this, but you do.”

“I do,” Oliver conceded. “My schedule’s already pretty
packed, but I suppose I could fit you in. French bread? Sourdough bread? Focaccia? Rolls?
Loaves? How many dozen per day?”

Luca liked every part of Oliver he’d seen so far. He
was charming and sweet and undeniably adorable. Then there was how goddamned sexy he
was when he got down to business.

“I’m not sure yet,” Luca said. “In fact, they may not
need any at all. Giana and Enzo have my proposed changes, but they are not required to
accept all of them—or any of them, actually.”

“You must hate that, not being able to actually
impose your control over them.” Oliver said it casually, like a true control-freak business
owner, like he understood.

How did Oliver know how much he hated it? Was it
that obvious? Was it written all over his face that he’d love nothing more than to march
down the street and tell Giana and Enzo exactly what to do?

“Yes,” Luca admitted.

“Nonna’s isn’t just an Italian affectation, is it? Was
there actually a Nonna?” Oliver asked.

“My grandmother.”

“Ah, well, there you go.” Oliver leaned back, grinning.
Luca wanted to chase him, but he stayed on his side of the table, with what he thought was
pretty admirable restraint.

“So why does Enzo dislike you so much?” Luca
asked.

“That’s a long story. And I’ve got to tend to these
rolls. If they overproof . . .” Oliver shrugged. “I’m a perfectionist, what can I
say?”

“If he supposedly turns against you every chance he
gets, what’s he going to say,” Luca said, deploying the most persuasive smile in his arsenal,
“when he finds out I want to hire you to bake our bread? I need the insider info. Need to be
able to convince him it’s a good idea.”

“It’s not going to help you, and you’re not
going to like it,” Oliver said. “Though, you sorta look like there’s plenty of things you don’t
like.”

But I like you. “You’re not wrong.” It was hard to admit it, but there it was. He was particular, okay?
Particular and more than a little arrogant about his particularity.

Maybe it was good Oliver knew that now, even if all
they ever had was a date and a night—though even that was still up in the air.

“We dated,” Oliver said. His watch beeped, and he
stood, just as he’d left Luca speechless for another long moment. “Well,” he amended, with
a cute little shrug. “It was one date. But still. He wanted to continue. I did not. And that’s the
story.”

“That wasn’t a very long story,” Luca managed, and
was he trailing after Oliver in his own bakery like a lost puppy looking for his owner? Yes, he
was, a little.

About the Author

A lifelong Pacific Northwester, Beth Bolden has just recently moved to North Carolina with
her supportive husband. Beth still believes in Keeping Portland Weird, and intends to be just
as weird in Raleigh.

Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first
foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope
springs eternal. She has published over forty novels and novellas.

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